(I’m half-Chinese, but with my sunglasses on, people usually can’t tell. I’m fluent in Mandarin. One day I get a text from my friend, a grade-school teacher.)

Friend: “You speak Chinese, right?”

Me: “Yeah, why?”

Friend: “Come down to [intersection] around noon and explain what the f*** is going on.”

(At my lunch break I head down there. On one side of the street is a crowd of school kids, while on the other side an elderly Chinese man with an ice cream cart.)

Kid #1: “I’m gonna do it.”

Kid #2: “No way.”

Kid #1: “Yeah way. I’m fast enough!”

Kid #2: “You’re not Chinese.”

Kid #1: “So?”

Kid #2: “Only [Chinese name] can do it.”

Kid #1: “I’m gonna do it.”

(Kid #1 dashes across the street, yanks back the cover of the cart, and grabs a handful of ice cream. He takes off, but the vendor catches him, pinning both arms behind his back.)

Vendor: “Ah, three bars? Your total is $9.28.”

Kid #1: “Lemme go!”

(The vendor removes some money from the kid’s pocket with his free hand.)

Vendor: “Cash paid is $20.”

Kid #1: “Yeah, yeah, I know the drill.”

(While still holding the struggling kid, the vendor deposits the $20 in his till and takes out change.)

Vendor: “Your change is $10.72.”

(The vendor puts the change and ice creams in a bag and hands them to the kid, who takes off.)

Vendor: “Have a nice day!”

Kid #2: “Told you.”

Kid #1: “Fine! Okay, [Chinese name], you do it!”

(A short Chinese boy steps forward. His clothes are patched and despite the weather, he’s not wearing a coat.)

Chinese Kid: “Let us meditate… on the way of the wind.”

(He strikes a ridiculous pose and exhales loudly. The other kids jump back.)

Chinese Kid: “…on the way of the snake…”

(New pose, hissing loudly. The others back away even more.)

Chinese Kid: “…on the way of the hawk.”

(He flaps his arms and jumps in a circle. The kids are a good twenty feet away now.)

Chinese Kid: “The meditation is done.”

(He runs up to the ice cream vendor and grabs a handful of bars. The vendor strikes him with an exaggerated karate chop which the kid easily blocks.)

Chinese kid:*flees, speaking Chinese* “Thank you, Mr. [Name]!”

Vendor:*shakes his fist angrily, also in Chinese* “Sorry, we are out of lime today!”

(The Chinese kid kicks towards the vendor from across the street.)

Chinese kid: “My mother says she hopes your leg feels better!”

Vendor:*red-faced with rage* “It does! Tell her thank you for the tea!”

(The kids are enthralled. As they eat the ice cream, I approach the vendor.)

Me:*in Chinese* “What just happened?”

Vendor: “Oh… you understood. That little boy is a new immigrant, and all the other children mocked him because he is small and weak. He told them Chinese people have special powers, and they beat him up and told him to prove it. But I overheard and whispered to him to rob me. Now we have a deal.”

Me: “How wonderful!” *pointing behind him* “Hey, can you tell what that is?”

(As he turns around, I drop some money on the cart and grab a bar of ice cream, fleeing.)

Vendor: “You forgot your change!”

Me:*shakes my fist* “It’s a tip!”

Kids: “Whoa! How did you do that?”

(I slip off my sunglasses. The Chinese kid bows to me and I bow back.)

Kid #2: “Told you they have special powers. Never bully a Chinese kid, man. Never!”

Me: “Unfortunately, she was correct and we are unable to do that. Only one in every nine pieces of chicken is a breast piece, and in order to fill your request we would have to cook an extra 81 pieces, which would severely affect our profit margin. Could I suggest the fillet—”

Customer: “You’re a f***ing f** aren’t you? You’re one of those queers!”

Me: “Sir, I’m going to have to ask that—”

Customer: “F***ing f** boy!”

(The customer then descends into a tirade of graphic descriptions of the sexual acts he would expect me to perform as a homosexual. I’m finding it difficult to maintain composure at this point.)

Me: “Sir, if you do not stop immediately I’m going to have to call the police.”

Customer: “You wanna fight me, f** boy? I’ll f***ing kill you.”

(The customer gets out of his car and lunges at the window. I slam it shut and lock it.)

Customer: “Come out here and fight me, you queer!”

Me: “Sir, I cannot help you any more. Please leave my drive-thru immediately or I will call the police.”

Customer: “You can’t make me! Give me my f***ing chicken!”

(I pull out my phone and dial the police. As I’m explaining the situation, the customer has reverted to his tirade of sexual comments aimed at me.)

Me: “The police are on their way. You can either leave the store now or be removed.”

Customer: “You little f**! I’ll be back f** boy, just you f***ing wait!”

(The customer roars off. I’m shaking and my voicing is cracking at this point, having maintained composure for so long, but I stay at the serving window so I can explain the delay to the next few customers, and apologise to the next car, who witnessed the entire episode.)

Me: “Hi, welcome to [fast food restaurant], I’m so sorry about the delay there, I was un—”

(The fast food restaurant I work in has two areas. One is a large area where you order food at the counter and that contains several tables. The second is only a few feet below the first and is accessed by walking down two stairs. At the time of day, we have a section roped off since the restaurant is nearly empty. Two women walk up to the counter: a middle-aged woman and an elderly woman who appears to be her mother.)

Middle-aged Customer: “Hi, we’d like to order two breakfast meals, please.”

(As I take her order I notice the elderly customer glance behind her at the roped-off stairwell. She then starts to take two steps backward towards the stairs.)

Me: “Ma’am, please watch your step. There is a small set of stairs behind you.”

(The elderly customer glances behind her again, and then takes another few steps backward.)

Me:*repeating* “Ma’am, there is a set of stairs behind you. It is roped off, but please be careful because I don’t want you to fall or get hurt.”

(The elderly customer continues to step backwards, but before I can stop her, she dramatically falls backwards over the steps.)

Elderly Customer: “I just fell over your stairs! They weren’t properly secured! I think I hurt myself. I’m going to sue you personally, and this restaurant!”

Middle-aged Customer:*rolling eyes and not even turning around* “Mother, get up off the floor and come over here and get your breakfast. You aren’t hurt and you’re not suing anyone.” *to me* “Just ignore her. She tries these stunts everywhere she goes. Thankfully I drove here and not her. This is how she lost her driver’s license as well!”

(I am a server at a popular bar and restaurant in a college town in Ohio. On Sundays, we are allowed to wear jerseys of our favourite teams. The following occurs when I approach a table on Parents’ Weekend wearing a Manchester City jersey with the Etihad Airways kit.)

Me: “Good afternoon, welcome to [restaurant].”

Woman: “I can’t believe they allow you to wear that! That shirt is horribly offensive!”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Woman: “Etihad? What is that? Some ‘Muslim Brotherhood’ thing, no doubt. We live in a Christian nation, you know! We don’t need any of your type around here!”

Me: “Um, ma’am, I was raised Catholic. This is a soccer jersey from Manchester City, in the UK.”

Woman: “I can’t believe they’d let a terrorist serve us in a place like this! We’re leaving!” *storms out*